


i'll be there when you need it most

by Zoejoy24



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Kid!Malcolm, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Pre-Canon, Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoejoy24/pseuds/Zoejoy24
Summary: The first time Malcolm runs away from school, Gil is the one to find him.When it all gets to be too much again, when it seems like no one is there for him, all he can think about is the kind officer once more.  But, he only has one way of finding him.  Or, rather, of making Gil find him.It may not be Malcolm's best plan, but it all works out in the end.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Comments: 26
Kudos: 70





	i'll be there when you need it most

_It’s all part of the job_. That’s what Gil keeps telling himself. 

He’s encountered dozens of families in tragic situations, dealt with several children who’d lost a parent or experienced something traumatic. It happens, when you’re an officer with the NYPD. 

So, why was the young Whitly boy weighing so heavily on his mind? Why was his mother—okay well, he _knows_ why Jessica is on his mind. She’s beautiful, sophisticated, _vulnerable_ … not that he’s that sort of man. But, for god’s sake, she’s Jessica Whitly. Of course she’s been on his mind.

But, the boy.

Something about Malcolm Whitly continues to linger with him, and Gil can’t seem to let it go. The trial is over. The case is closed. The Surgeon is behind bars, the boy, _Malcolm_ , is safe. He has his mother, and her money, to help him move on, now.

So why can’t Gil stop thinking about him?

It’s been nearly six months since the case closed. The boy only comes to mind sporadically. Life is returning to normal, the media attention is dwindling, and Gil is back to beating the pavement. 

Missing children cases are a dime a dozen, in New York. The majority of the time, one parent or the other forgot their custody schedule. Or, their child takes the wrong bus, and winds up in Queens instead of Brooklyn. Or something along those lines, mundane mistakes. Of course, there are real missing children cases. Some of them end horribly, and some are solved before they turn tragic.

Gil tries to stay optimistic, when the call about another amber alert goes out. It’s just another day, just another kid.

His heart leaps into his throat when he hears the name of the child who’s missing.

A hundred horrible scenarios race through his mind. Malcolm has been in the news a lot lately, more than any child his age should be. Jessica had done her best to protect him, but with a case as high-profile as the Surgeon’s had been, even her wealth and influence could only reach so far.

The general public knew his face, now. Knew his name, his family heritage. 

How hard would it be for someone to snatch him, to threaten his already grieving mother with the loss of another loved one if she didn’t meet their demands?

What if his father had a following? Someone as crazy as he was who was intent on making Malcolm pay for putting his father away?

What if, what if, what if?

He tries to focus, as he drives his cruiser slowly through the streets. He doesn’t let himself dwell on the worst-case scenarios.

Malcolm is a bright boy. He’ll be fine. He’s fine. He’s fine…

Gil doesn’t know why he decides to swing by the small city park. There’s something itching in his memories, a mention… something Malcolm had told him. A whispered confession, when the boy had been brought in to make a formal statement. It had been a passing comment, Gil can’t even remember why Malcolm would have said anything about it, and yet…

It’s late, nearly ten pm. He’s been searching for Malcolm for hours, ever since his mother came out of her drunken stupor long enough to realize her son had failed to come home from school (he doesn't want to be mad at her. She’s suffering, struggling. And yet… this is her _son_. The hour it took her to realize could make all the difference in whether they bring him home safely or not). 

The park looks deserted, as it should be.

And yet... _there_. Perched on a swing. A solitary, small silhouette.

Gil pulls the squad car into the small park lot and calls in his discovery, then turns off the engine, killing the lights. Usually, encounters with trespassers in city parks after dark would draw the opposite response—bright lights and sirens, shock and awe in order to disorient the underage kids sneaking booze or the druggies shooting up. But this is different. He knows, instinctually, who’s sitting on the swing, even though he can’t see the boy’s face.

He makes his way over slowly, and he doesn’t try to sneak or hide, but he isn’t hurried, either. He keeps his gait casual, his posture relaxed. The boy tenses when he sees him. Gil can see his shoulders hunch, his head drop, in the lights of the surrounding city. But he doesn’t run. He stays put on the swing, and as Gil continues to meander his way over, the boy begins to relax.

He plops down into the swing next to Malcolm’s, and begins to sway slightly, pushing himself back and forth with his feet. They sit in silence for several moments before he finally asks, “You okay, kid?”

Malcolm sniffles, and nods.

“You, uh,” he hesitates. He’d meant to tell the boy that he’d worried a lot of people, to scold him, but something stops him. The last thing Malcolm Whitly needs is more guilt on his small shoulders. “You hungry?”

It’s hard to tell for sure, but he thinks Malcolm shoots him an incredulous sideways glance. The boy is smart, and likely guesses what Gil had originally thought to say. Several more long moments of silence stretch between them, before Malcolm finally nods and murmurs a barely audible _yes_.

Gil pushes himself up out of the swing, and turns to look down at Malcolm. The boy slides off the swing, his body shrunk in on itself, and Gil notices that he’s shivering slightly.

“I’ve got a jacket in the car you can wear,” he offers, reaching out to rest a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder and rubbing gently. “And we can get you a nice cup of cocoa, okay?”

The kid shrinks back suddenly, nearly sending himself stumbling to the ground in his haste to pull away from Gil. He’s shaking his head vehemently. 

“Okay, okay,” Gil backpedals, holding both hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to do that. We can get whatever you want, alright? Let’s just get you in the car and warmed up, okay?”

Malcolm is breathing hard, he can hear it, and can see the rapid rise and fall of his skinny shoulders. He still can’t see his face, but he can only imagine what sort of fear he would find there. And, _damn it all_. No child should be so filled with terror at the mere mention of a mug of cocoa. Not for the first time, and he guesses not for the last time, either, Gil curses Martin Whitly for the damage he’d brought upon his son.

Malcolm nods slowly, and inches his way forward once more. Gil doesn’t try to touch him, though he follows him over to the front passenger door, opens it for him, and grabs the jacket off the seat. The interior lights come on as soon as he pulls the door open, and finally, Gil can see the boy's face. There are dried tear tracks streaked along his cheeks, and fresh tears glisten in the corners of his eyes, though he manages to hold them back. He looks pale, and his light blue eyes are haunted, unfocused. He looks so lost and sad that Gil can feel his heart breaking as he stands there watching him.

He drops to one knee, and drapes the jacket over Malcolm’s shoulders, tugging it in close over his skinny little chest. It dwarves him, of course, practically falling to the ground. But Malcolm turns his head and nuzzles against the collar, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes out a soft sigh of relief, and Gil can’t even think about taking it off.

He bundles Malcolm into the car, tucking the jacket around him and buckling him in before cupping his cheek and planting a soft kiss to the crown of his head. He doesn’t know why he does it. It’s probably inappropriate to be so familiar with a child he barely knows, far outside of his responsibilities as a peace officer, and yet… Malcolm sighs once more, relaxing back into the seat, and the smallest hint of a smile dances across his lips. It’s clear the boy is starved for affection, and not for the first time that evening, Gil’s heart breaks just a little more.

He shuts the door and walks around to the driver's side. By the time he slides into his own seat and glances back over at his passenger, the boy is asleep. Gil chuckles quietly, and shakes his head. He radios dispatch to tell them that he’s on his way to drop the Whitly boy off at home, and eases his way back into traffic.

Jessica Whitly is waiting on her front stoop when Gil pulls up to the house. He hasn’t been back since the night he arrested Martin, but he remembers every detail perfectly. That night, and this place, will be etched into his memory for the rest of his life. He kills the engine, and leans over to shake Malcolm’s shoulder gently. 

“Malcolm. Hey, kid. You’re home. Time to go sleep in your own bed.”

Malcolm stirs, sniffles, then stills again, and doesn’t wake.

Gil sighs, and exits the car, circling around the front to meet Jessica by the passenger side door. She’s hurrying down the front walk, and she looks exhausted. 

“Is he alright?” she cries out.

Gil holds up a hand to settle her, nodding. “Yes, Mrs. Whitly, he’s fine. Just a little tired,” he assures her. He opens the door as quietly as he can, and leans in to undo Malcolm’s seat belt. Throughout it all, the kid remains fast asleep. Even as Gil reaches in and scoops him up out of the car—leaving his jacket behind on the seat—and carries him into the house, he barely stirs. He’s small for his age, and it takes almost no effort for Gil to bring him up the stairs to his bedroom. He sets him gently down onto his bed, brushing hair back from his face before turning to leave.

Jessica is standing in the doorway, arms wrapped tightly around herself, leaning against the jamb. She’s watching him intently, and for a moment Gil worries he’s crossed a line. But, slowly, a small smile begins to pull at the corners of her mouth, even as her eyes begin to glisten with unshed tears.

She turns, and heads down the hall, and he exits the room, following her quickly and quietly. While he plans on leaving now that his task is complete, Jessica beckons him into the sitting room, and sinks down into a chair, motioning for him to do the same. He hesitates, glancing towards the door. He should leave, there’s no good reason to stay.

“Where did you find him?” Jessica asks. She sounds tired, her voice quiet, barely above a whisper. 

Gil makes up his mind. He sinks down into the chair opposite hers, and keeps his voice equally soft when he tells her about the park.

She shakes her head, huffing out a bemused laugh. “That’s one of the first places I looked, before I even called the police. He must have gone somewhere else, first.”

Gil nods, scrambling for a response, but he’s spared the need when she presses on. “You’re very good with him. Do you have children, Officer Arroyo?”

“No ma’am,” he replies with a sad smile. “Not yet, anyways.”

“Please, call me Jessica. I think we’re familiar enough with each other now, for that,” she insists with a chuckle.

“Only if you’ll call me Gil,” he counters.

“I suppose that’s only fair. Well, Gil. You’re excellent with children. I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful father one day.”

“I was the oldest of eight,” he explains with a shrug. “I have some experience.”

Jessica nods, smiling slightly once more. “I’m glad it was you, who found him. Someone he knows, trusts. He’s been…struggling. We’re all still trying to adjust, of course, but, Malcolm has taken it so hard. He barely talks, hardly eats. The kids at school are horrible to him. All he does is read and read and read.” Jessica’s voice grows louder and louder as she speaks, her hands clenched into fists on her lap. Her breath hitches, a small sob that seems to both take her by surprise, and pull her from her tirade. She composes herself, slipping on the familiar mask she’d worn throughout all the interviews and the trial, the only remaining sign of her distress is the way she wrings her hands. 

“I’m sorry, that was…I’m sure you don’t want to hear all that,” she says with a huff, trying to brush it off as if what her family is suffering through is nothing to worry about.

Gil wishes he could tell her she doesn’t have to hide her pain from him, her struggles. But it’s not his place, not even close. He leans forward, and rests one hand over her’s, squeezing gently for the briefest of moments before pulling back. She stills beneath his touch, looking up at him with wide eyes, still shiny with tears.

“You don’t need to apologize, Jessica. I can’t imagine what you must be going through. All of you. You’re allowed to be…to be worried, for your son, for yourself. But, you’ll get through this. You’re a strong woman,”—he feels himself blushing as the words leave his lips, but there’s no going back now—”and a good mother.”

Jessica nods, and smiles wetly at him even as more tears begin to slide down her cheeks. “Thank you, off-, _Gil_. And thank you for bringing my boy home. I don’t know what I would do if I were to lose him, too.”

“We would never let that happen,” Gil replies instantly, and he means it. He’d do anything in his power to keep Malcolm safe, to spare him and his mother any more trauma. They’ve been through so much already. He sighs, then, and pushes himself to his feet. “Well, I should go. I’m still on duty, and my sergeant wouldn’t be pleased if I spent all night chatting.”

“Oh, of course! I’m sorry I didn’t mean to keep you,” Jessica frets, rising quickly to her feet.

“Not at all. But if I stay any longer, I’m gonna get too comfortable to leave,” Gil chuckles. He makes his way to the front door, and Jessica follows him. 

“Thank you again, Gil. For everything,” Jessica says as she pulls open the door for him, reaching out to rest a hand on his forearm.

He smiles softly down at her, replacing his patrol cap and giving her a nod. “My pleasure, ma’am,” he drawls.

It draws a laugh from her, and his heart flutters at the sound. He turns and heads for his car before she can see him blush, calling out to her to ‘have a good night’ as he goes. 

***

Malcolm wakes in a panic, a common occurrence these days, heart pounding as he sits straight up in bed. _In bed._ He doesn't remember going to bed. The last thing he remembers is the park, and the swings, and then…the vestiges of his nightmare are fading, and he struggles to separate his dream world from reality. Slowly, the true memories trickle back in, replacing the visions of boxes and forests that haunt his dreams. He’d been at the park, and he was so tired. Too tired to go home, too cold. And then Officer Arroyo had come, and wrapped him up in his jacket. He must have brought him home, his mother must have put him to bed.

His mother. She’s going to be furious. He knew, as soon as he’d left school early, and spent hours and hours wandering the city, that he was going to be in trouble. He really hadn’t meant too, but by the time he’d realized, it had been so late.

He dresses quietly, then sneaks out into the hall on his tiptoes, avoiding all the squeaky spots. The house is still and quiet, and he sighs, in relief, and also in annoyance. He’d thought that, today of all days, his mother would be up to see him off to school. But there’s no sign of her as he makes his way down to the kitchen. 

Cook is there already, plating up eggs and toast and bacon. Malcolm shuffles in, shoulders hunched and eyes lowered as he slides into his seat. Cook must know what happened, what a fuss he’d caused. He flushes slightly, suddenly abashed as he thinks about it. 

Cook slides his plate over, and Malcolm grins, relaxing when he sees his toast is slathered in Nutella instead of the usual jelly. A special treat that his mother disapproves of. He glances up, smiling in thanks, and Cook just shakes her head with a chuckle and turns back to the stove. 

Theirs is a mostly silent camaraderie, these days, but she understands him even still. She never pushes or prods, and she always knows exactly what treat will make him smile. She’s one of the few household staff members who stayed after…after everything. The rest are all new—well, the rest that mother has even been able to hire once more—and regardless of how professional they claim to be, he still catches them staring at him. 

He eats quickly, murmurs a quiet ‘thank you’ to cook as he puts his plate in the sink, and hurries out to where their new driver is waiting with the car, managing to escape to school before ever encountering his mother.

School ends too soon. Usually he’s eager to leave, to escape the looks and the jibes from students and teachers alike. But today he thinks he’d prefer all that to the inevitable confrontation that awaits him.

It comes sooner than he expected. His mother is waiting outside for him by the car, arms crossed, eyes focused on each and every child who comes out until they finally lock on him, tracking his progress as he drags his way over to the car.

“Hello, Mother,” he murmurs softly, head bowed, afraid of what he’ll find if he meets her eyes.

“Malcolm. Are you planning on coming home today, or would you like to take another tour around the city?”

He sighs. “Home, please,” even though it’s the last place he wants to go. 

She pulls the door open for him, and he slides in. Jessica slides in next to him, and she doesn’t quite slam the door, but it’s a close thing.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Malcolm says softly, hoping an apology might forestall whatever tirade she has planned.

It wasn’t always like this, but he knows why she’s angry all the time. He ruined everything, he doesn’t blame her.

 _That’s not true_ , a voice that sounds like his therapist’s whispers in his head. _She’s worried about you. She doesn’t want to lose you, too._

“I should hope so!” Jessica exclaims. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you caused? How worried I was? I had the police out looking for you for _hours,_ Malcolm Whitly!”

He shakes his head meekly. He’d thought of it, of course, when he’d realized how long he’d been gone, how far he’d wandered. It had been too late by then, the damage had been done, and then he’d been too afraid to go home, so he’d kept walking.

“What were you thinking? Well, answer me!”

“I…I don’t know. I just had to get away from all of them.”

Jessica deflates somewhat at that, her indignant anger bleeding out at the admission.

She knows about the bullies and the rude teachers. He’s seen the pamphlets for other schools sitting on her desk, but he’s not sure that will help. 

“I know it’s hard right now, Malcolm,” she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s hard for _all_ of us. But you can’t just run away like that!”

 _You do_ , he wants to say. _You run to your liquor cabinet._ She thinks he’s too young to know why she drinks, what alcohol even is. But he does. He can smell it on her now.

“I-”

“Stop,” she bites out, holding up a hand. 

He glances up at her then in surprise, looking away quickly when he sees how haggard she looks, knowing that it’s his fault. Again. Always his fault.

“I know you're sorry, now. I’m sure you won’t do it again, and it’s not as if grounding you will make any difference.”

He shrugs. It’s true. He doesn’t have friends, or go anywhere anyways. 

“Fine. Enough then. I don’t want to think about it anymore.” She turns away from him, staring out the window, and says nothing else the rest of the trip home.

He thinks it will blow over. But it doesn’t. Jessica remains in her funk; sulking, drinking, avoiding him. Ainsley doesn’t really know what happened, and she tries to play with him, tries to pull Jessica out of her mood, but when it doesn’t work she becomes whiny and pouty as well. Malcolm doesn’t know how to fix it, and he doesn’t know if he can bear the cloud that’s hanging over the house much longer. 

Another particularly bad day at school is what pushes him over the edge. He’s knocked into just a little harder than necessary in the hall, ignored by teachers when he tries to participate in class, and finds his homework drenched in water at the end of the day. It’s all too much. He wants to be held, comforted, told it will be alright, that it’s not his fault. 

He wants his father.

The thought crosses his mind, and nearly makes him ill. He rushes to the bathroom, barely bothering to ask permission, and locks himself into a stall. He thinks he might throw up, but the nausea fades, leaving him shaky and breathless and sobbing. 

He just needs someone who _cares_.

The plan is a poor one, but it’s all he has. There’s only one person in his life who has shown any concern for him, any tenderness or affection, and he doesn’t know how else to find him.

He doesn’t return to his class. Instead, he heads straight for the main doors and out into the city.

He spares a brief thought for his mother, but it’s not as if she can ignore him any more. Besides, he has a plan, this time. Sort of.

He heads straight for the park, but hides just out of sight. It wouldn’t do to be found too soon.

It takes less time than he’d expected. He’d expected his mother to come, first. Then other searchers. Instead, when the patrol car pulls into the lot, it’s Officer Arroyo who climbs out and heads towards the park.

Suddenly, Malcolm feels ashamed of his childish behavior. Gil doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t look happy, either, and worry lines crease his forehead as he looks around the park. 

“Kid, you here?” he calls out, pausing in the center of the space.

Malcolm pushes himself up to his feet, swaying slightly as blood rushes back down to his lower legs and feet, one of which had fallen asleep on him without his realizing. He nearly falls when he takes his first step, snapping a branch and rustling leaves as he stumbles out of the little wooded area.

The commotion draws Officer Arroyo’s attention immediately, and he spins around, shoulders dropping in relief when he sees Malcolm. He raises an unimpressed eyebrow, though, and lets Malcolm make his ungainly way all the way to where he stands before he says anything.

“Are you alright, Malcolm?”

Malcolm nods, his cheeks heating, and he keeps his eyes down, kicking at the dirt beneath his feet to disperse the last of the pins and needles there.

“Look, kid,” Officer Arroyo begins, before sighing and running a hand over his face. “Is there anything you want to tell me? Like, why you keep running away?”

The long minutes spent sitting alone in the quiet of the park had helped to calm Malcolm’s raging emotions, and now he just feels tired, and silly for running like he had.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t have run. I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”

“To do about what, kid?” Officer Arroyo asks. 

He doesn’t sound annoyed, or frustrated, or mad. He drops to a knee in front of Malcolm, reaching out to grasp his shoulder and squeeze softly. Malcolm chances a quick glance up to meet his gaze, and all he sees there is genuine care and concern. The tenderness of the officer’s gaze brings on a sudden wave of emotion, and Malcolm’s eyes begin to fill with tears. Officer Arroyo slides the hand on his shoulder up to cup the back of his head, like he’d done on that first night they’d met, and it only makes the tears fall faster.

“Hey, hey, Malcolm. It’s okay, you’re alright,” he soothes, pulling him into a hug.

Malcolm cries softly for several long moments, shaking in the officer’s strong arms. Officer Arroyo rubs his back softly, and cradles his head against his shoulder, and lets him cry.

Finally, Malcolm pulls back, wiping at his face with his sleeves, and taking a deep breath.

“Everyone hates me,” he blurts out.

Officer Arroyo’s eyebrows draw together at that, and he shakes his head. “That’s not true, kid.”

Malcolm huffs. “It is! I ruined everything. Mother hates me, and Ainsley. My teachers, all the kids at school. They think I’m a monster like my father. And no one cares about me! No one but—” he looks up at the officer, but can’t quite say the words, afraid that if he does, Officer Arroyo will deny it, and crush what little hope of finding comfort and care Malcolm has left. “That’s why I ran away,” he finishes softly.

For the briefest of moments, the officer’s eyes harden and his lips pull into a scowl. But the expression is gone as quick as it had appeared, replaced once more with concern.

“You are not a monster,” he says firmly, then he sighs. “And your mother doesn’t hate you, Malcolm. She’s very, very worried about you. She cares, very much.”

“She didn’t even look for me. I knew she wouldn’t,” he sniffles.

“Oh, kid. She called me as soon as the school told her you’d left. I was right down the road, I told her I’d come. Otherwise she would have been here herself. In fact, I need to let her know you’re safe, okay?” 

“She doesn’t care!” Malcolm insists. “She never even asked, last time. She only cared about how much trouble I caused!” He’s breathing hard, tears threatening to spill once more, and he wipes at his eyes angrily. 

“Oh, Malcolm. Let’s go to the car, okay? Turn on the heat? I’ll call your mom, and then we can talk some more. How’s that sound?”

“You won’t just take me home?” Malcolm asks, eyes narrowed.

“Not until you’re ready. I promise.”

Malcolm nods. He _is_ cold, and a little tired, and sitting would be nice. He trudges towards the cruiser, hands buried in his pockets, and hopes Officer Arroyo isn’t tricking him. 

He’s not ready to go home, isn’t sure that he ever wants to go home again.

***

They make their way back to the cruiser, and Gil watches as Malcolm settles down into the passenger seat, holding his hands out to the vents on the dash that are blowing out warm air. He pulls out his cellphone, and dials the number Jessica had given him, keeping one eye on Malcolm all the while.

The boy isn’t crying anymore, and his breathing has evened out, and he’s left looking drained and tired from the events of the day. 

Jessica answers, and he does his best to calm her shrill, insistent questions, assuring her of Malcolm’s safety, and that he’ll bring him home soon, and that she has nothing to worry about. It takes several moments for her to calm down enough that Gil is certain she’s actually heard and understood what he’s told her, and finally he’s able to hang up and turn his attention back to his small charge.

He takes a moment to settle back into his seat, getting as comfortable as he can in the small space, before he turns to Malcolm.

“Feel better, kid?” he asks.

Malcolm nods. “A little. I’m sorry again, Officer Arroyo.”

“Hey, call me Gil, okay? Look, Malcolm...” He pauses, pressing his lips together as he considers his words. 

Malcolm waits for him to continue in silence, looking down at his hands, braced for whatever reprimand he seems to think Gil has for him.

Gil sighs. He has a theory, pieced together from the boy’s explanations and outbursts of hurt and confusion. But he isn’t sure exactly how to get at the truth of the matter and determine how accurate his theory is. So, when he continues speaking, he goes slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Can you tell me why you ran away again, Malcolm? And why you came here?”

Malcolm sinks down into his seat, looking out the window, cheeks flushing, and Gil waits patiently, more certain of his suspicions by the minute. 

“I—I wanted my father,” Malcolm whispers, and _that_ is not what Gil had expected to hear at all, but the boy presses on before he can say anything. “I mean, I didn’t, not really. I wanted…someone who cared. And I thought of you. And I didn’t know what else to do, or how to find you.”

With each word of admission Malcolm’s voice grows softer, till he’s practically whispering at the end.

Gil sighs, running a hand over his face as he thinks about Malcolm’s words. It’s what he’d suspected. Malcolm doesn’t seem like the type to act out for attention. In fact, Gil would guess that more attention is the last thing he wants. It’s clear that what the kid desperately needs is to know that someone cares about him, is there for him. Gil isn’t a parent, doesn’t have any kind of mental health training, but he knows people, has seen a few things. He can see that Malcolm craves some stability, that he needs someone in his life who will be there to take care of him. It should be his mother, but Gil has seen how much Jessica has struggled to keep herself together, and while it breaks his heart to see it, he isn’t surprised that Malcolm doesn’t find his comfort at home.

The fact that the kid has latched onto _him_ as that person is…well. He doesn’t really know. It’s a big responsibility, but he knows he’s already in too deep to even think about letting the kid down now.

Malcolm has started to shift in his chair, the flush on his cheeks deepening, tears threatening to fall once more, and Gil realizes that he’s lost himself in thought and never made any sort of reply to Malcolm’s admission.

“Oh, Malcolm. Kid, I’m so sorry. I know things haven’t been easy for you, for a long time now. And I’m so sorry that things can’t just go back to the way they were. But, do you remember what I told you the night we met?”

Malcolm nods, but keeps his gaze set firmly out the window.

“You are a hero, Malcolm,” Gil says, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “I’m sure it doesn’t seem that way, some days. But I promise you, none of this is your fault. Your mother doesn’t blame you for anything. She loves you, and she wants you to be safe. If she’s mad, it’s because she’s scared, and she doesn’t know what to do about it. Do you believe me?”

Malcolm nods again, more slowly this time, as if he isn’t really sure he does. Gil presses on.

“You were right about one thing kid, I _do_ care about you. There’s just something about you.” He reaches up and ruffles Malcolm’s hair. “You’re a good kid, Malcolm. But, listen. You can’t keep running off, all right? It’s not safe kid, especially for you.”

Malcolm sighs, and nods, glancing over at Gil. “I know. I, I _do_. I promise, and I won’t do it again.”

“I believe you. And, I don’t think you’ll need to, anyways,” Gil says, reaching down into the center console. He has a stack of cards there, and he pulls one out, flipping it over to jot his personal cell number on the back.

Malcolm watches him with wide eyes, and Gil notices for the first time that his hand is trembling where it rests on his leg.

“Here kid,” he says, holding the card out. 

Malcolm takes it hesitantly, reading over every piece of information, flipping it over to look at the number on the back. He looks back up at Gil with those impossibly blue eyes of his, and his mouth opens and closes a couple times before he drops his gaze back to the card.

“If you need me, for any reason, just call that number, okay?” Gil urges, reaching out to tap his finger against the card. “If you just want to talk, or you need help, or you feel like running away again. Whatever it is. I promise I’ll do my best to answer. And if I can’t, I promise I’ll call back just as soon as I can, alright? I might not be able to be there right away, but I’ll always be there eventually.”

“T-thank you, Offic- I mean. Gil. Thank you. I didn’t, you don’t have—”

“I want to, Malcolm. Alright? I want you to call me. Do you believe me?”

Malcolm nods, a small smile spreading across his face as he looks up to meet Gil’s eyes. “Yeah, yeah I do. I will. Thank you!”

Gil smiles back, and reaches out to ruffle his hair again. “Can I take you home now, kid? I know your mother is worried.”

Malcolm’s smile fades slightly, but he nods. He grips tightly to the card the whole drive home, only letting go when he slips it into his pocket as they make their way up the front walk. 

Jessica opens the door once more, her face lighting up in a smile when she sees Malcolm. She reaches out, and for a moment Gil thinks she’s going to hug him, but instead she cups his face in her hand, running her thumb over his cheek as she looks him over.

“Oh, Malcolm,” she exhales, and while he can hear the relief in her voice, he knows that it’s not what Malcolm needs. Gil sighs. _That_ is most certainly not his place, and he keeps his comments to himself as he watches Jessica check her boy over once more. “I was so worried,” she’s saying. “Thank God Gil was so close, hm?”

“Jessica, I uh. I gave Malcolm my number as well, just so. Well. If you don’t mind, I told him he could call me, any time,” Gil tells her.

She looks surprised, for a moment, then glances down at Malcolm. He’s watching her closely, hope shining in his eyes, and he nods ever so slightly as she considers.

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind,” she says slowly.

“Not at all,” he assures her.

“Well then, yes. I suppose that’s fine. Just, please, tell me if you’re going to go running off again? I don’t know how much more my heart can take,” she pleads.

“I promise, mother. I won’t do it again. I, I understand now.”

She raises an eyebrow, but nods in acceptance.

“Well, we won’t keep you any longer, Gil,” she says with a smile, moving her hand to the door, clearly ready to go back inside.

“Thank you, Gil,” Malcolm says earnestly. 

Gil reaches out and wraps an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in close for a quick hug. “Any time, kid. Any time.”

EPILOGUE

A shrill ringing pulls Gil out of his slumber, and when he opens his eyes, the bright light from the small screen of his phone forces them closed again. He fumbles, half-asleep, blinking against the light, and finally manages to answer the phone.

“‘Lo?” he rasps out, clearing his throat before trying again. “Hello, this is Gil.”

“Um, hey Gil,” a timid voice says on the other end of the line.

He immediately recognizes the voice as Malcolm’s, a surge of adrenaline spiking through him.

“Hey kid, are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I’m at home,” Malcolm assures him.

It’s become a bit of a joke, between them. Any time he calls Gil, Malcolm assures him that he hasn’t run off once more. 

“Kid it’s, jeeze. It’s 3 o’clock in the morning. Why are you up?”

“Oh,” Malcolm says, and he sounds surprised. “Oh, I’m sorry Gil. I don’t—I shouldn’t have woke you up, I wasn’t—. Sorry, I’ll go now.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay kid. I told you to call anytime and I meant it. So, what’s up?” He settles back against his pillows, but he’s fully awake now, relieved to hear that nothings wrong, and while being woken up in the middle of the night isn’t ideal, he’d made the kid a promise, and he intends on keeping it.

“Are you sure?” Malcolm asks, sounding very small on the other end.

“Yeah kid. I’m here. You can talk to me.”

“Okay. Okay. I um. I had a nightmare,” Malcolm explains. “I don’t even really remember it, but I was so scared. I uh, I thought maybe I’d forget it, if I called.”

“Alright, well. Why don’t you tell me about your new school,” Gil suggests. 

Malcolm sighs in relief, and Gil can hear him rustling around in his bed, likely settling back down into the blankets.

“It’s a lot better,” Malcolm begins.

Gil listens carefully, asking questions, keeping the kid occupied until Malcolm is yawning more than talking, clearly ready to go back to sleep. After one particularly long pause in the conversation, Gil quietly calls out Malcolm’s name, and gets no response. He figures the kid has fallen back to sleep, and, he whispers a hushed, “Love ya, kid,” before he ends the call.

A quick glance at the clock shows him he has to be back up in an hour and a half. Even still, he finds that he doesn’t regret a thing. 


End file.
